Devil May Cry 3: The Chronicles
by GrimmEverafter
Summary: One driven by the lust for power, the other driven by the need for justice. The tale of the sons of Sparda and how the fate of the world was decided by their blood. An indepth novelization of Devil May Cry 3. Read and Review Please!
1. Prologue

**Author's Rant: ** What happens when you mix an obsession for demon hunters and game novelizations? You get my daily dose of boots to throw at my lazy muse, that's what.

After reading a bunch of stories about Devil May Cry, I began to ponder why I haven't really come across a novelization of any game from the series. I know a few are probably lying around, but I am too lazy to look for all of them. So, as a diversion from my other story, I decided to write a novelization of DMC3 to help me with working out details. Not to mention I play that game about a million times a day *looks around evilly then grins*.

Just so no one kills me, I will not be biased when describing Dante or Vergil. I have played the game as both of them, and have come to these conclusions.

One, Dante is _**definitely**_ an ass, but a well-meaning one. He's just naturally arrogant, confident, and impulsive, and is probably happier getting drunk and proposing to a mop than hurting someone who doesn't deserve it. However, he really needs to stop taunting people, or one day he's going to end up as someone's punching bag. Or Lady will shoot him in the head again. To Dante: It's okay to cry, ya pansy! Being a softy once in a while doesn't mean squat!!

Two, Vergil is also an ass, albeit one who tries to bury anything he sees as 'weaknesses', like emotions. He and Dante lost their mother, so it is just how he reacted. And once you think about it, humans are idiots at times, though he needs to loosen up. _**A lot**_. Otherwise, if he gets the power he's after, he'll end up giving himself a heart attack out of sheer shock. To Vergil: SMILE DAMNIT!! If you didn't have the expression range of a rock, maybe you'd feel better!!

Three, if it came down to picking who I'd rather hang out with, I'd find a way to keep them from killing each other. They are high on the list of game characters I adore, so choosing wouldn't be fair.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, places, creatures, etc., of or relating to the Devil May Cry series. All I own is the game file that sparked this idea and the brain doing the thinking *holds up jar with brain*.

~GrimmEverafter

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Prologue

The library was surprisingly dark and dim, lit in a few places only by lone lamps that were set near desks or in the high ceiling, offering just enough luminescence so see the words printed in the books themselves. Each tome set on the tall shelves seemed ancient and mysterious, some bound in leather, others ornately decorated, all radiating ages of lost and powerful knowledge. Silence weighed heavily down upon the room, adding only to the secrets the books held, yet the echoing footsteps the man took seemed to challenge that secrecy.

A single figure stood in front of one of the cases, his icy blue eyes scanning the pages of one such book as if searching for an important key. He was dressed in a way that could be described as regal; a dark blue coat embroidered and trimmed with gold, straps on the lower sleeves, a dark gray vest that was ribbed almost like a carapace, and dark pants that disappeared in a pair of dark brown knee-high boots. The man's expression was emotionless, in a way that could almost be described as cold, but combined with his slicked back silver-white hair, it lent him an air of both power and dignity. However, the katana he held in his free hand gave evidence of the former, as well as of the wall he undoubtedly had around him.

He barely reacted when he heard footsteps, instead shelving the book and ignoring them as he opened another himself into his reading, still searching. However, he did clearly hear the other man's question, his voice somewhat cool but with hidden malice that was barely masked.

"So, you're looking for the book of ancient legends, the tale of the demon warrior Sparda?"

"That's not what I'm looking for. Leave me."

The blue-coated man's voice was deep and cool, almost as cold as his eyes, though a hint of annoyance was easy to detect. Closing the book, he replaced it among the others, and didn't bother to look at the man approaching him, more interested in the book in front of him. His eyes slightly narrowed, the speaker moved more easily into the light, revealing himself. Although he appeared to be a man in his middle years with gray-tan skin, there was an air of evil and cruelty around him that was hard to identify as human. On the left side of his face and shaved head was covered in a strange, reddish-black color that seemed to pulse, spreading down his neck into the collar of the priest-like clothes he wore. Both eyes were mismatched, the right being a deep blue, the other a reddish brown that seemed to compliment the corruption around it. A single, red-bound book was held in his hand; its worn cover and yellowed pages showing signs of obvious use and care.

"Then what are you looking for?" Either the man had not heard the threatening tone, or ignored it, for he continued, stepping closer and regaling the story in his dark voice, "A demon impregnates a woman, who then bears twin sons. That's the story," he glared knowingly at the blue-coated figure, almost sneering, "Isn't it?"

Impossibly fast, he drew his katana and held it at arm's length, silencing the man who had been barely three inches from getting impaled in the throat. The figure never lifted his gaze from the books once, but it was obvious that he was tired of the other's company. "Leave me," he repeated, the threat emphasized by his blade, "I won't tell you a third time."

For several moments, both were silent, but soon, the bald man gazed at the sword nonchalantly, then ran a finger along the blunt side. "People inherently fear-" he pressed his thumb against the edge, barely even wincing when the metal bit into his flesh, "evil. However, occasionally a person may become… _seduced_ by evil." Blood dripped heavily onto the ground as he continued to run his thumb along the blade, stepping closer to its wielder.

This time, the blue-coated warrior slowly turned his gaze towards the scholar, his narrowed eyes bearing a slight hint of interest. After a moment, he drew his blade away, slowly sheathing it as he inquired suspiciously, "What are you getting at?" Holding his book to his chest, the bald man slowly bowed his head, requesting solemnly, "Share with me. The story of Sparda…"

Almost as if in disgust, the warrior turned away, walking away from the scholar. He looked up, book still held to his chest, and glared after the man, fiercely scowling. However, the barest hint of a grin played at the corner of his lips, though his scowl did not lessen, and his eyes held a plotting gleam under their usual glow of evil.

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"The activation method is as I described before."

The warrior and scholar gazed up at the flight of stairs and the ornate golden door at the top, both equally as ancient as the walls and carvings of the marble chamber. It was unusually silent, as if Death itself was asleep, and the dim gloom of the sputtering torches made the demonic statues oddly menacing. Looking back at his silent companion, the bald man continued, "It should be a simple matter for you."

He turned to leave, taking a last glance at the door, before stating, "I will go to his place. I believe I know where the item we seek is located." Turning, the warrior watched him disappear into the darkness, hearing his last, almost annoyed command, "You should dispose of any obstacles quickly."

As soon as the human was gone, several demons rose up from the ground as if it were made of liquid. Each of them were white, with markings of blood red adorning their limbs and body. Cruel, dead eyes locked onto the warrior, thirsting for this foolish mortal's blood, aching to dismember him with the flame-covered, dark red scythes they wielded. Hissing in echoing voices that were feminine and masculine at the same time, the Abyss demons approached their prey, confident that this mortal would fall like the others who had trespassed on that forbidden land.

Almost as if he was unimpressed, the warrior only looked around, easily hearing the sounds of more demons appearing on the stairs behind him. A fiery glint of anticipation appeared in his eyes, and when they were close enough, the first Abysses leapt at him, swinging at the still warrior. Time seemed to slow to a crawl; closing his eyes, the warrior seemed to take a deep breath, tensing up as the blades inched closer. The demons thought the man foolish; they were certain that they would kill him quickly.

Everything came back to normal speed as he struck the closest scythes with the scabbard of his blade, knocking several of the now surprised demons back, spinning to deflect another, he then began to draw the weapon out, easily seeing the demon behind him as it lunged for his unprotected back.

A single flash of torchlight on steel, and the Abyss behind the warrior was split vertically in half, blood spurting from the demon's deathly pale flesh. Two more attacked as it dissolved, and the katana's wielder yelled out as he sliced across them. Both gave confused cries as their torso fell from their waists, sending a rain of crimson high into the air. Others found themselves meeting a similar fate, and if these demons could properly show expression, their death masks would have been ones of surprise. Sheathing the blade, the warrior watched idly as several other Abysses rose from the ground, angered by the sight of their dead brethren dissolving. They completely surrounded him, still foolishly confident that a mere human could not stop them.

One sliced down at the man, who had glanced at the clumsy blow and easily sidestepped the blade. Responding with a surprisingly powerful hit from the hilt of his blade, the demon was thrown into the air as the warrior split the closest demon in half. As the first came close to hitting the ground, he easily caught it with his blade, slicing diagonally through its body and adding to the crimson rain that fell as he mutilated the remaining demons in a similar fashion.

The man's hair had fallen from its usual state to hang around his face, nearly hiding his cold eyes and streaked slightly with blood, like his coat. Standing straight, he cast an amused glance toward the demons rising from the ground between him and the door, turning around and tightening his grip on his blade. Suddenly, he charged at them, yelling out fiercely as his blade flashed across them, dealing fatal wounds that left many of them falling apart, weapons raised in blocks that were seconds too late.

Standing up straight, the warrior twirled his blade and sheathed it behind his back in an unusually arrogant manner, a slight smirk on his lips. It quickly disappeared when he seemed to notice that his hair was down, and he snorted softly as he ran a hand over it, slicking it back and removing some of the blood that had gotten into it. Satisfied, he continued up the stairs unhindered, showing no signs of having just battling with the sheer speed and strength he had displayed.

Pausing in front of the door, he closed his eyes for a moment, as if contemplating something important. The warrior suddenly seemed much grimmer that before, and before continuing into the chamber beyond the door, he opened his eyes, and made a simple statement that seemed to foretell at that moment the hardships ahead.

"It begins..."

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**Okay, part one of the prologue done and over with!! I have split it into two parts and purposely left out names for a reason. If you knew nothing of the game and watched the cutscenes starting with Vergil's, you wouldn't hear any names mentioned. Thus, I decided to try and utilize the challenge of writing it without names. **

**Reviews of all kinds are loved!! **


	2. The Bloody Storm A Crazy Party

**Author's Rant: ** After having to fix and re-upload the first chapter a million times in a row (damn borders…), I finally had some time to work on the rest of the story. Although this is going to stay pretty true to the game, I will be adding a bit of dialogue here and there where it is deemed appropriate, such as when the Hells totally trash Dante's office. I'm surprised he wasn't swearing up a storm after what they did to the place. And figuring out how to fit in Lady's monologue with the twins' battle was somewhat challenging. As for why it took so long to update, school likes to interfere with everything by tossing in a million projects.

The chapters, save for the prologue in Dante's mode, will be titled according to the level or levels that take place in them. To tell the truth, first time I saw Arkham, two things popped into my head; either he was going to turn into some psychotic monster, or whip out a hidden weapon and impale Dante. Now that I look back, the way he looked down at him when he saw the amulet was creepy…someone draw him some freakin' eyebrows!!!

Special thanks to _Abercus Wings_,_ The Black Inferno Alchemist_,and_ Aionis_ for being my first reviewers!!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any of the characters, places, creatures, etc., of or relating to the Devil May Cry series. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this **fan**story now, would I?

~GrimmEverafter

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The Bloody Storm

The very apex of the ancient tower faced the onslaught of the storm with the same dignity that had kept it standing for countless centuries, seemingly reaching to the sky with its seven strange, serpent-like statues. They eerily resembled the arms that nooses were hung from, though whether or not they served such a sinister purpose was kept secret, one that only the dead who had constructed them knew. The moon shone stubbornly, full and bright, through the black clouds and sheets of rain, refusing to allow her splendor to be blocked by something so insignificant. Yet the sound of steel on steel was easily heard above the din of the rain and thunder, ringing out like a pair of bells that played a deadly tune.

_You've heard of it, haven't you? The Legend of Sparda. When I was young my father would tell me stories about it._

Two figures dueled fiercely on the flat courtyard under the statues, appearing all the world as opposites of each other in appearance. One was dressed in a blood red trench coat, his muscled chest and back easily visible as he dodged an attack, countering it with the huge broadsword he wielded. His dark pants and boots, though soaked with rainwater, gave the man the appearance of a violent warrior compared to the cold, regal look of his enemy. A blue, gold-trimmed coat flowed about the other, barely protecting his dark vest and pants from the downpour. Dark brown, knee-high boots splashed into a small puddle as he countered the broadsword with his katana, its long hilt wrapped in material the same shade of blue as his coat.

Neither seemed much older than nineteen, yet they fought with the ferocity of warriors much older than they.

_Long ago, in ancient times, a demon rebelled against his own kind for the sake of the human race. With his sword, he shut the portal to the demonic realm and sealed the evil entities off from our human world. But since he was a demon himself, his power was also trapped on the other side. _

_I never believed it. I thought it was just a child's fairytale. But I discovered that this so-called legend wasn't a myth at all. _

_Sparda existed._

_How do I know? Well…I met the sons of Sparda, both of them._

Reeling back from the blows they exchanged, both figure cast angry, determined glares at each other. They perfectly resembled one another; messy chin-length silver hair, strong handsome faces, and icy blue eyes. Yet it was there that the similarities ended. As their blades once again sang against each other, sparks rising from the intensity of the blows, the fierce, raw emotion in the red warrior's eyes were met by the cold, but equally powerful ferocity of the blue warrior.

_Though the same blood of their father flowed through their veins, the two battled each other fiercely like archenemies. It seemed as if they derived some sort of twisted pleasure from this…_brotherly_ fighting._

The pure speed and strength of the blows continued to create a symphony as the warriors only struck steel. Not a drop of rain was able to slip past as they created a dome of whirring blades, probing for weaknesses in each other's defenses. But they were too evenly matched; when they finally pressed their blades in front of each other, and the suspended rain soaked them as it finally fell with a loud splash. Glaring at one another from behind their crossed swords, they caught their breath, neither willing to give in.

Both put so much strength behind the blades that the metal began to glow and steam from where the two blades met. Pushing forward, the katana's wielder managed to knock the broadsword from its owners grip. Shocked, the red-coated man tensed as if to move away from the other, but his hesitation cost him dearly. As the tip of his weapon became embedded in the stone, the blue warrior thrust his katana forward, burying it up to the hilt in his enemy's stomach.

For several moments, neither moved, and blood dripped steadily down the blade from the wound, mingling with the rain that fell. All that could be heard now was the dying man's labored breathing, and he fought to keep his eyes focused on the other's face, whose indifferent expression regarded him with cool satisfaction. As quickly as he had stabbed, the victor pulled his blade from the defeated man's flesh, blood spraying in a wide arc behind him. It was all that had kept him standing; lurching forward from the blade, the red-coated man fell backward, one gloved hand reaching out as if to catch himself, and hit the ground, motionless.

But in the end, only one was left standing.

Placing a loose fist to his forehead, the victorious one closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment, as if regretting what he had done. But he regained his coldness as he brushed his hair back, slicking it away from his face, and sighed quietly, his task done. He sheathed his katana and lifted the broadsword, turning and walking away from the defeated man. Slowly, though, the fallen one twitched his fingers, attempting to sit up as blood pumped heavily from his wound. Swiftly, his enemy turned and charged at him, bringing his own broadsword forward at his chest.

It was the last thing he saw before the blackness took him.

_RIIIING!!!_

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Chapter One: A Crazy PartyRIIIING!!!

The black phone on the large, wooden desk was ringing loudly, a nasty disturbance in the peaceful silence of the wide room. It was somewhat shabby and sparsely furnished, but in a welcoming way; the old pool table, odd assortment of amps and guitars, and drum set definitely wouldn't have fitted the home of a lawyer or someone with a desk job. Under a black iron set of stairs and an industrial looking landing that led to an upper room, two faded red couches were arranged in the corner, and judging by the random posters of both rockstars, models, torn targets, and the huge wolf skin hanging up behind the desk, the wide space was more or less a rec room to whoever owned it.

Still ringing, the phone sounded whiningly insistent, demanding to be answered as it was yet again ignored. A single door stood just behind the desk, and the brown wood muffled the sound of squeaking metal and solid footsteps. Something hit the door hard enough to open it without the handle, and a young man stepped out of the dark hall, furiously rubbing his fingers through his wet silver hair. Barely older than nineteen, he was shirtless, with only a pair of fingerless leather gloves and a strange amulet around his neck to draw away from the perfection of his muscled torso. His heavy combat boots sounded rhythmic on the old floorboards as he continued to walk forward, and he gazed around for the phone, shaking some of the water from his hair. The large chair behind his desk had fallen over at some point, and he looked at it coolly as the phone whined again. Suddenly, he kicked it, sending it spinning into the air and swiftly slid into it as it righted itself. Crossing his boots over each other, he slammed them hard on the desk, sending the phone flying into the air. He caught it easily in one hand, and held it to his ear as he looked up.

"Sorry, not open for business yet," he said in a rather arrogant voice, not bothering to let the person speak before tossing it back onto the hook. He rolled his ice blue eyes as he reached and grabbed a slice of pizza from a half-empty box, complaining mildly, "I haven't even picked a name for this joint, and I'm _already_ getting' calls." Biting into it, he chewed slowly, before swallowing and taking another bite. It was true; he had just bought the shop a week and a half ago with the help of an old friend, and once he had finished moving in, the man had been trying to pick a decent name for his business.

The red double doors opened, and the man glanced up as he was chewing, raising an eyebrow at the priest-like (though the red book definitely didn't look like a bible) figure that walked in. There was something odd about him, whether it was the strange scar-like mark down the left side of his face, or the malicious glint in his eyes, but he seemed like a normal enough human. "You a customer too?" he said, watching as the man stood and stared at him, "Well, if you want to use the bathroom, help yourself. The toilet's in the back," he said, gesturing behind him at the door.

"Is your name Dante? Son of Sparda?" the man asked, his voice echoing the sneer he easily hid as he ran his fingers along the pool table's edge. Pausing in his chewing, Dante narrowed his eyes a bit, though he continued with his cocky attitude as he asked, "Where did you hear that?" Turning and standing in front of his desk, the bald man stated, "From your brother." Now Dante narrowed his eyes more noticeably. He definitely was used to strange people, but something about this man he just didn't like. Particularly his mismatched eyes; both the blue and rust colored orbs gazed down at the light glinting off the red stone of his amulet.

He was now standing barely an inch in front of his desk, and he kept eye contact with Dante as he spoke again, "He sent this invitation for you. Please accept it." Yet the silver-haired youth noticed the man's free had creep towards the edge of his desk. And Dante was barely surprised when the man suddenly gripped the edge and flipped the desk itself. Kicking off the edge, he flipped into the air as the pizza box, white handgun, and phone went flying. The chair was splintered between the wall and desk, and it came to a stop against it. Landing on it, Dante grabbed his handgun and pointed at the man.

But the man had disappeared in the short time the desk had taken to flip and smack into the wall. Glaring around to make sure he wasn't hiding, Dante relaxed and snorted, hopping off the desk and shoving his handgun in the back of his pants. "Invitation huh?" he asked the empty space, holding out one hand and catching the pizza box, with the pizza itself landing soon after. Grabbing his half-eaten slice, he held it above his mouth tongue out, as he prepared to bite it again.

Impossibly fast, the air shattered in several sections as strange, black robed demons with red eyes leapt at him, burying their scythes into the man's flesh. Dante cried out in both surprise and pain, dropping the pizza box as six scythes dug deep into his flesh. Blood spilled heavily onto the floor as the Prides stood there, believing the fatally injured man to be dead. But something seemed strange as the man's head faced the Hell closest to him, who gazed up in surprise as his arm shot out, beheading the demon.

It slammed into the wall, disintegrating quickly into sand. The others watched it in shock, and Dante had a cocky smirk on his face as he caught the demon's skull, twirling it on one finger as five pairs of frightened red eyes regarded him. As he walked forward, one Pride refused to release his weapon, whose blade was embedded in the man's chest, totally unnerved by the ineffectiveness of the mortal wound. Snorting, Dante dropped the skull and kicked it hard in the face, knocking it backwards into the others, and continued to stroll towards the old jukebox, all but oblivious to the crescent blades still embedded in his leg, arm, and chest. Another handgun, its deep ebony color a stark contrast to the other's ivory hue, glinted in front of him, but he instead scooped up his half-finished slice of pizza, ignoring the weapon. Once within arm's length of the antique machine, he pulled the blade from his chest and threw it at the ceiling fan above him. It severed instantly; still spinning, it killed the three Prides that had been behind him, ready to strike again. "This party's gettin' crazy!" yelled Dante, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Let's rock!" He lowered his arm and hit one of the buttons on the jukebox.

Nothing.

Raising an eyebrow, he hit it again, then three more times as it still refused to work. _Goddamn stubborn thing_, he thought turning around slightly. Suddenly, he brought his fist forward; yelling out as he easily dented the machine. It sparked to life, and after a moment or two, a heavy metal song began to play loudly. The sound of shattering glass as more demons entered the shop did little to overpower the song. Dante stood up and tapped his foot along to the beat, waiting several seconds as the demons came closer.

Biting the end of the pizza to keep it in his mouth, he turned around and punched out with his left, making good use of the blade still embedded in his forearm as it destroyed another demon. Kicking and punching, he whooped as he sent one airborne with a backwards kick, a smug grin on his face as he slammed his arm backward, catching a Pride in the chest as it had prepared to cut his unprotected back. Grabbing the slice in his mouth with his free hand, he wrenched the blade from the demon's chest as he kicked another leaping at him, both disintegrating into sand. Turning to avoid one Pride's weapon, he grabbed the handgun still holstered in his belt and spun it in front of his chest, leaning back as another scythe skimmed across it. As soon as the sparks ceased, he shoved the gun in the shocked demon's mouth, blasting its head into sand and leaping up as a demon behind him slashed at his ankles. Landing hard on it, he pulled the blades from his leg and arm, and watched as the other demons gathered around him.

Pizza forgotten, Dante whooped as he kicked the ground, sending the demon skidding across the floor like a skateboard. Scooping up the black handgun, he laughed as he spun around, shooting at the demons as they tried to intercept him. Shortly after on took out the legs at one end of his pool table, the demon slayer kicked in its direction, riding up it like a ramp. A demon landed on the edge of the table, watching as Dante slammed the other into the ceiling and dropped onto the raised edge of the table, sending the dumbstruck one to its death.

The billiard balls flew out as he came to a stop on the floor. Standing up and smirking, he brought his ivory handgun forward and shot at the cue ball as it flew over his shoulder. It slammed into the others, sending them flying to impale the demons in front of him. The airborne demon landed near a coat rack behind the table, sending a skeleton-hilted sword flying towards the hunter. He caught it easily in one, hand turning around and slicing the broken pool table in half before kicking the halves towards other demons, crushing them. As the song winded down to its end, Dante turned to face the remaining demons, eyeing the small piles of sand as he smirked at them, "The end? Don't bet on it."

More demons appeared as the broadsword cut through the others, reducing them to sand in seconds. More than once his twin handguns came into play, riddling the demons with bullet holes as the song started over again. After defeating a wave of the Prides, a newer, red clothed demon appeared, its skeletal face and neck ringed by dirty white feathers. Finishing off one of the common demons, Dante noticed the Lust charging at him, barely avoiding its attack as it destroyed the black drums, shrieking as it missed him.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled, beheading the demon angrily. Glaring as more of the demons appeared, he continued to hack and slash through the horde, cursing under his breath whenever one destroyed another instrument. The pool table was one thing; but his amps and guitars were another. Another Lust charged at him as he finished off another, this time slicing across his back. Grunting, he turned around and cut the demon in half, whose pale eyes widened in shock as the wound healed almost instantly. In fact, nothing remained of the other wounds, not even scars; only the dried blood on his pant-leg indicated he had been at all injured. The demons realized too late that this was no mere human they were dealing with. Yet they still did believed that they could kill this mortal.

Blasting through another pair of Prides, Dante leapt over a Lust, beheading it as the demon charged at him. Shooting the remaining demons, he landed lightly on his desk, and sat down as he looked around his shop. "God damn it…" he muttered, watching as one of the other fans fell from the ceiling.

In the ten minutes it had taken him to decimate forty or so demons, they had trashed his shop. The larger pieces of furniture were broken, though miraculously the pair of couches were untouched, parts of the floor were busted, and his instruments were a broken pile of metal and wood. Broken glass littered the ground, and Dante scowled fiercely, twirling his sword on its point as he added, "Can't get any worse I suppose." Something caught his eye, and he turned in surprise to see the unharmed box of pizza. Smirking, he stood up and walked over to it, his appetite back, and bent down to pick up another slice.

A skeletal foot squished into it, spreading dirt all over the cheese, and Dante glared Daggers at the Lust who had appeared. Before it could stab at him, he promptly shot it in the mouth. "Bastard," he growled, then turned and walked over to the coat rack next to the broken desk. A blood red leather trench coat hung from it, and Dante eyes it proudly before throwing it over his shoulder. It was his own custom design, tough enough to take a light blow from a blade, and with rust-colored holsters for his handguns and sword sewn onto the back.

Taking a last look around his ruined shop, Dante smirked as he stated simply, "I can already tell. Looks like this is going to be one hell of a party!" He shouted the last words, kicking the double doors with enough force to knock them off their hinges.

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**Time for Dante to start some serious ass kicking! And if I may note, first boss battle as well!!**

**Reviews are what keep Beowulf from stealing your candy!! **


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